Bare ass cheeks.

Two round, pasty-pale globes greeted me as I burst into my parent's bedroom, stumbling over my own feet as I skidded to a halt. My eyes stretched as wide as they went, mesmerized as those cheeks quivered, the skin rippling with back-and-forth motions.

"Ahh!" My mother's scream blinked my eyes to attention, the same scream that prompted me to barge in here.

"Stop!"

With an extended reach, my fingertips brushed over a cool, smooth surface. Leaning closer, I clasped the object and hurled it at the assailant attacking my mother. In a blur of floral ceramic, the lamp threw a lamp at him. Its shade fell off mid-flight, bouncing down to the carpet and curling toward the bed.

The lamp though, shattered on ass contact, shattering on contact. That milky-white ass skin dotted with red spots, from which trickles of blood oozed out. Jolting, he released a yelp and clamped both palms over his ass. Groaning in a low voice that I didn't recognize, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. His dick, erect and flushed red beneath a light-yellow condom, bobbed as he limp-jogged into my parent's bathroom, clutching his ass in his palms and cursing with each step.

My feet unfroze when he shut the door with a click, bolting to my mother's bedside.

"Huh-Harper?" Her flushed, sweaty face greeted me. Lifting her fingers, she brushed a few blonde strands clinging to her forehead behind her ears. "What?"

Tears streamed down my cheeks. "Mom, I'm so - are you - should I call -"

"Harper, no." A squeeze around my wrists dragged my eyes over her appearance... her entirely naked appearance. "I can't say the same for him, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Oh gross.

A giggle left her lips, jiggling her erect, pink nipples. Her areolas were disgusting, large, swollen pink and -

"Me!?" My shriek strained my throat. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Mom!? Who is he? Where's Dad?"

The D-word bounded her into action, shooting her eyes wide and dropping her mouth open.

"He's a friend of mine." Moving around the broken ceramic pieces littering her bed, she wrapped the sheet around her and swung her legs over the side. "Harper, what you saw... You can't tell your dad."

"Of course I'll tell him!" My tears continued, my voice shifting to a whine. "You're... cheating on Dad!"

I should throw a lamp at her.

Her hands clamped down on my shoulders, radiating warmth into them. "Harper..." the calmness of her voice chilled my spine. Her hands on my skin felt disgusting, dirty, like I'd done something wrong, not her.

With a flick of her tongue, my mother fed me the biggest lines of bullshit I'd ever heard.

Your father doesn't love me. He's never here. I'm lonely.

I didn't answer her, only hung my head down. Shame burned my cheeks, my tears dripping over my jawline. They spilled over, dotting my chest. I ignored them, crossing my arms and pushing up my breasts.

"Hey..." Her soft finger lifted my eyes to her, congestion running down and tickling the inside of my nose. "I will tell Dad, promise. But I will tell him, 'kay?"

Heat burned my eyes as I glared at her. "You'd better."

With a huff, I ran out of her room and tore into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

The day my pre-teenage life changed was... no different from the three months that preceded it, with one exception.

"Fuck, yes!"

Raspy grunts and groans, slapped skin on skin contact, and curse words greeted me as I slipped through the front door. Rolling my eyes at the crack in my mother's bedroom door, I lifted my backpack up to shoulder height and dropped it.

The impacting thud was muffled by the living room carpet, along with my kicked off shoes. Not even the thump from flicking them onto the wall disturbed the lewd sounds I should not have been used to.

Not from those two. Ugh, again?

"Oh, fuck, Rhett," Mommy Dearest's moan vibrated in my ears. "Yes! Oh yes! That's it... Right - fucking - there!"

Flopping down on the sofa with a grunt, I flipped on the television. Her voice turning into staccato, clipped phrases meant she was close to being done.

I shouldn't have known that level of intimate detail at twelve but, thanks to Mom, I did. It was on a long list of other things I should have not known, like particular sexual positions demonstrated by my mother fucking -

"Rhett! Fuck yes!"

Him.

Sinking my molars into my right cheek, I rolled the inside of my cheek between them. My thumb depressed the remote's volume louder as the backdrop of my mother fucking -

What the fuck kind of name is Rhett anyway?

Not Dad.

"Yes - ahh!"

Pain burst in my cheek when she screamed out, a siren-like shriek. Dropping the remote, I covered both my almost thirteen-year-old ears. Humming a tuneless song, I focused on the vibrations pulsing my cheekbones and palms.

I should have gone to Ellie's house...

The idea of seeing my new friend, my only friend at lunch, pulled my lips to one side. She didn't know about the homewrecker situation happening in the bedroom when she invited me over for dinner tonight.

I wish I'd taken her up on it. Maybe I'd even see Jake.

Remembering her brother from school, heat crept into my cheeks and I cupped it with my palm. Flutters rippled in my chest as his dimpled cheeks, even dotted with acne, popped into my mind. Despite his braces, I still wondered if he was a good kisser, prompting a giggle to bounce my shoulders. Tall and thin, with dark hair and eyes, he perfected the nerdy, string-bean look.

He's so cute. Ellie would probably kill me for thinking that.

Silence on the other side of the blood rushing in my ears prompted me to lower my hands. Rustling sounds from the bedroom space meant Mom's deed was done, yet again she cheated on dad with... Not Dad.

Knowing his name, fuck even recognizing the heavy, damp, post-smell sex they hung in the air, I didn't look at him buttoning up his shirt. My eyes narrowed on my unfaithful mother, not only to my dad but also me. Wearing a wrinkled version of the clothes she wore when I left for school this morning, she walked him to the same door I entered.

Mother of the year, setting one example after another.

A goodbye kiss crackled the air with a suctioned pop, rolling my eyes.

"Tomorrow," Mom whispered, bumping her nose into his.

At the gravelly rasp in his response, I tipped my head onto the headrest and released a gagging sound.

She used the same parting word every time they fucked. I did notice the way she paused at the open doorway, turning her head at me and the light blue in her eyes deepening. With long, slender fingers, her hand ran through her shoulder-length blonde hair, darker and shorter than mine. In just a few drags, she unsnarled the freshly fucked strands back straight.

Tall, thin, and curvy were the other characters I inherited from her.

Don't get me started on the boobs that grew overnight.

Lying, cheating, and stabbing Dad behind his back weren't.

I might look like her more but I'll never be her.

"Can you not do that in front of me?" I grumbled as Mom's pink cheeks closed the door. "It's fucked up and I don't like it."

Mom hadn't told Dad yet. She had no defense other than they never got to her confession before mutual yelling erupted, her blaming him for overworking, some accusation about a woman working there and Dad's enraged denial. Once both remembered I lived there too, they clammed up. Dad spent more time at work. In his absence, Mom spent more time with Rhett.

At my words, her sharp breath hissed in my ears and her shuffled feet stopped. Glancing over my shoulder, my averted eyes caught one of her hands wringing the other.

"It..." her voice dropped to a near-inaudible level. "Won't happen again, Harper."

Not believing her, I grunted. Unimpressed disinterest was the only reaction her actions deserved.

Initially, I was shocked when I discovered Mom bumping fuzzies with another man. On all fours, ass up, he rammed into her from behind. My reactions, at least in my mind, were well-deserved.

One explanation was the sole reason I didn't tell Dad.

It's my lie to live up to. My mistake, my burden.

She was right; she made her bed with another man and it was her business to tell Dad. Not once was I wedged between them. Dad was never here and, in less consolation, Mom never asked me to lie.

After three months, I was numb to her bullshit. I shouldn't have been numb, as much as I shouldn't have known the smells and sounds of sex a few months after I'd gotten my own period.

What I didn't realize, until the next day, was how true Mom's promise was. Her belongings gone, she left a single note for me, enclosed within a birthday card, and my distraught father.

"Dad?" my bag slipped off my shoulder, dropping down. Surprise squeaked my voice, "You're home?"

Surprised was an understatement and my mouth hung open as I approached my father being home. The lawyer workaholic was never here before the time I should have been doing my homework. My eyes roamed over his appearance, searching for clues as to why he was home so early.

Is he sick?

His face flushed red, Dad hunched over a pile of mail on the kitchen counters. His grip was so tight, his knuckles were white. Dipping his chin to his chest, the glare on his glasses blurred the details of his brown eyes, wrenched closed and etching crease lines at their corners. Under his tailored black suit, of which he had so many identical in color, his spine rounded and shoulders sagged.

The sound of his sniffle drew my hand onto his. His knuckles rolled until his hand gripped mine and he heaved a raspy breath. Straining my ears, I assumed that he found out about Mom's affair. Cracks splintered my heart, guilt seeping in and weighing it heavy in my chest. It sank lower and lower, like it dropped into my stomach.

I swallowed, sharing the thick strangulation sound between us. Dad sniffled one, twice, and the shine of tears trailed down the sides of his nose. They beaded up at the tip, then dripped over onto the counters. Each soft plop struck into me, a hardening sensation coiling in my chest.

Dryness choked my throat, but I pushed through, "Dad?"

With a loud bark, more exhale than laugh, he tipped his head back. "She left."

My eyebrows scrunched together. "For... the store? Shopping? What the fuck, Dad?"

"For good," Dad's bitterness coated every inch of his face, from the frown wrinkling his forehead to downturned lips. I gasped, not at his words but him not correcting my swearing. Removing his glasses, he rubbed the corners of his eyes between his index finger and thumb. "Mom left for good."

"She -" I started when his other fist slammed on the counters, muffled by the envelope.

"She left me!" he groaned. "And you. I'm..."

At that moment, my heart broke. Not for me, for Dad. Pain lodged itself in my chest, curling my shoulders and clenching my stomach. I withdrew my hand from his and curled both at my sides. My molars grinded and I rolled my lips inward. Tingles twitched my nostrils as I breathed shorter, sharp breaths.

The view of Dad blurred as I closed my eyes, hoping that I saw a different scene when I opened them.

Maybe he'll let me dye my hair now, so I don't look like her.

I hate her.

His voice disappeared, as if sucked inward by the guilt spreading over his eyes. It magnified when he slipped his glasses on and his hands cupped my shoulders. "We're going to be okay, Harper, I'll... make sure we're okay."

My shoulders sagged, not from the weight of his hands on them but his words in my ears. Hot tears rose up in my eyes, blurring the view of my shoes, but I refused to allow them to fall. I hung my head. "How do you know?"

"A birthday card," he clipped out, bitterness coating every word. His fisted hand lifted the envelope to me, an obnoxious cotton candy pink. "She told you in a birthday card."

My nostrils flared at the envelope. Recoiling, I leaned back, as if I feared it was toxic. With a wrench of my lips, I tucked them into my right cheek and bit down.

"Burn it," I muttered, leaning forward and wrapping my arms around Dad.

"We'll be okay, Harps," he whispered, more to himself in hindsight than me. His arms tightened around me until he compressed the air out of my lungs. "We'll be okay."

I should have been a crying, sobbing mess. Hours later, I soaked tears in my pillow, choked on strings of saliva and congestion, and barked out sobs until my throat was raw. Unable to eat and too weak to move, Dad kept me home from school the rest of the week.

At that initial moment, numbness coated over me, like an invisible layer of indifference. I clung to the sensation of feeling nothing better than the pain and guilt bubbling up behind it, choking off my air supply more than Dad's hug.

Closing my eyes, I nestled my cheek into his chest, feeling the starch of his dress shirt in my skin and breathing in his natural soap. My lashes pushed into my cheeks as one single reaction rose up in the back of my mind.

I'd say fuck her but... she already went that route.

Another sniffle from Dad was all I needed.

Nah, I'll say it anyway.

Fuck. Her.